


il calore del sole

by wishforwishes, yeahloads



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 02:31:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19053448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishforwishes/pseuds/wishforwishes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeahloads/pseuds/yeahloads
Summary: “I don’t smell that close yet, do I?” Harry asks lowly, offering his neck for Jeff to scent.Jeff does so without thinking, before Harry’s even done speaking; his nose moves to the spot just below Harry’s ear, where his unique aromatic brand seeps out of his skin the strongest. His mouth starts to water, inhaling deeply.“Close enough,” he nearly growls, the rumble of it simmering low in his chest.Or, Jeff is the world's most externally non-threatening and placid alpha. But he can't help but get super riled up about perceived threats against Harry, his... boyfriend. Partner.Mate. And with Harry rapidly approaching his heat andstillinsisting on attending the Gucci show in Rome, Jeff is more than a little anxious. He's only able to breathe easier when they get back to their hotel and he can take care of Harry properly. But that turns out to be a whole different beast entirely.





	il calore del sole

**Author's Note:**

> We've been wanting to co-author a fic for a while now, and this literally came about pretty much overnight, and we're super happy with how it turned out! We'd love to know what you think - come say hi over at [wishforwishes](https://wishforwishes.tumblr.com/) and [harryseyebrows](https://harryseyebrows.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Title translates from Italian to "the heat of the sun."

“Harry, we don’t have to go. Alessandro would understand.”

Name-dropping Harry’s fashion mentor is a dirty move, but it’s Jeff’s last-ditch effort to get Harry to consider not attending the Gucci show today.

Alessandro might be a beta and less attuned to these things, but he surely wouldn’t want Harry out in public, parading himself around when he’s this close to a heat.

Harry won’t hear it, though. He’s looking at Jeff in that half-amused, stubborn way he does.

“I’m fine,” he says, smoothing over the immaculate cream felt of his suit. “I’m allowed to do things, you know.”

His words do nothing to quell the building worry under Jeff’s ribs. “I know. That’s not —“

Harry turns on the heel of one of his brand new pink loafers. Jeff is concerned that he’s going to get blisters tonight; they’re so stiff and not broken in. But then again, Harry is Harry and he’s likely already charmed his shoes into not harming him in any way.

He takes Jeff’s face in between two warm palms, his long fingers reaching towards the lobes of his ears, which he traces briefly and gently. His eyes are bouncing back and forth quickly between both of Jeff’s, having turned on his laser focus that always makes Jeff feel for a moment like his breath is going to be permanently caught in his throat.

“Jeffrey,” Harry purrs, “Nothing is gonna happen. We’ll go for a bit. Take a few pictures. Say hello to people. And then when we get back you can show me how mad you are at me for dragging you to this.” One side of his mouth is tilted up, a hint of dimple appearing like a half-formed crescent.

“I’m not mad,” Jeff mumbles. Still, he grips Harry around his trim waist and squeezes maybe a bit harder than necessary.

Harry’s eyes light up, his lopsided smirk growing even wider. “Save it for later,” he warns half-heartedly.

Jeff pauses and wills himself to relax. His shoulders have crept up towards his ears without him realizing, so he forces them down and takes a deep, steadying breath while Harry watches him with faint amusement.

“You gonna keep me safe?” Harry asks, his fingers gliding over Jeff’s back, where he can barely feel anything through the thick fabric of his well-made, plaid suit. Well, Harry’s suit, really. But it’s Jeff’s for the night. It’s been dry-cleaned, hemmed to fit, and starched but if Jeff focuses, he thinks he can still smell a bit of Harry’s scent on the collar.

Jeff swallows. “We have security,” he says flatly.

Harry’s moved onto gripping Jeff’s biceps, which admittedly aren’t that impressive, despite his recent dedication to the gym. He’s never been a self-conscious person but it does niggle at him a bit, that he’s on the shorter side and not very built. Not alpha enough for some.

If anything, physically speaking, Harry would be better suited for it with his height and frame. All the boxing he does to stay fit, making him strong and lithe. But if anyone saw him naked and on his back, or on top and moaning with his throat bared, eyes closed and mouth parted… they’d know that he’s exactly who he’s supposed to be.

Despite his heedings, Harry seems dead-set on continuing to rile Jeff up. He’s not very subtle, no matter what he might think. He crowds his way into Jeff’s space, even more tactile than usual.

“I don’t smell that close yet, do I?” Harry asks lowly, offering his neck for Jeff to scent.

Jeff does so without thinking, before Harry’s even done speaking; his nose moves to the spot just below Harry’s ear, where his unique aromatic brand seeps out of his skin the strongest. His mouth starts to water, inhaling deeply.

“Close enough,” he nearly growls, the rumble of it simmering low in his chest.

Every cell in his body is telling him to take Harry to bed and keep him there until it’s — without a shadow of doubt — over. To guard the door and make sure that he’s protected and looked after, giving him whatever he wants. Getting him to bend with pleasure over and over and over again until there’s nothing left to wring out and he’s liquid and boneless.

Harry, tuned-in as ever, must sense Jeff’s urgency. He presses even closer still, despite there already not being any room between them. With his arms wound tightly around Jeff’s neck and shoulders, Jeff can feel the vibration of his words reverberate through his own ribs when Harry says, “We’ve got plenty of time. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jeff feels like he jinxed himself by even pretending to be confident about the security outside the venue. The few seconds between the barrier falling and the security guards rushing to put themselves between Harry and the crowd feel agonizingly long. Jeff realizes that he's instinctively put his hands up, ready for a fight; embarrassed, he relaxes his posture and settles for anxiously trailing behind Harry once the guards have ushered him back into the building.

Jeff doesn't know how Harry could have noticed it, but maybe he just senses that Jeff's inner alpha needs reassuring, because he reaches behind him as soon as they get up the steps, and holds Jeff's hand the whole way inside. That’s not where his concessions to Jeff’s anxiety end, either.

Jeff expects them to be ushered to their seats, but Harry politely declines Alessandro’s offer of a prime front row viewing spot when they meet him backstage, bookended by kisses on both cheeks as they quickly say ‘hello’ and ‘catch up with you later.’

Instead, they’re escorted to impromptu seats where they can watch the frenzy of behind-the-scenes and still see the models walk the new collection down the runway. They’re mostly closed off from view of the other spectators, but it’s still a slight surprise when Harry forgoes his own chair in favor of perching himself on Jeff’s lap like he’s not meant to be anywhere else.

Jeff automatically wraps an arm around Harry’s waist to keep him steady, even though he feels solid and relaxed with his back to Jeff’s chest and his thighs draped leisurely over both sides of his. The incident earlier still has Jeff a little wound up, though. And he gets the distinct feeling that Harry is being purposefully demonstrative to try and soothe some of his worries. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Jeff takes him up on his unspoken offer, nosing into Harry’s neck again like he’s wanted to since they left their hotel room. Relaxing, he lets some of Harry’s calmness seep into his skin like afternoon sunlight.

It lasts for a little while, and then Harry starts to get restless. Nothing too obvious to anyone who might be paying attention, but Jeff can tell — can smell the changes in his scent from the way his pulse has picked up and he keeps shifting around.

“You okay?” Jeff asks, mouth pressed to Harry’s ear; the show music is loud but he doesn’t want to yell, either.

Harry swings his right leg over so he’s sitting more side-saddle, and puts his arms loosely around Jeff’s shoulders. His green eyes are bright even in the dimness of the room.

His tongue darts out between his plush lips as he wets them. He says, “Yeah. Just like. Warm. And a little crampy.”

There has to be a backdoor exit around here. It would take two seconds for him to call their security and get a car to come pick them up. He’d feel slightly bad about ducking out early, but arranging for apology flowers to be sent to Alessandro and the crew would surely smooth any ruffled feathers.

His rapidfire thoughts must be showing across his face, because Harry swipes his thumb over Jeff’s jaw and shakes his head slightly. “I’m _fine_.”

So Jeff stays put and tries his best to ignore the building heat in his pelvis as he thinks about the impending situation. How they’re not where they should be: at home, or at least an approximation of it, behind a closed door and wrapped up in soft cotton sheets away from everyone else.

He wishes even more that he could talk Harry into calling it a night when they head to the after party. But Harry made a commitment to perform and he’s never cancelled something before of his own volition.

On stage, alongside one of his many pseudo-mother figures (none other than Stevie Nicks herself), Harry is radiant. He doesn’t show even a hint that anything about him is off. The extended break he’s been on to allow himself ample time to craft his second album means that his voice is well-rested and practically perfect. He looks cool and effortless in his suit and wide-frame pink sunglasses. In the crowd, it’s a toss up on who everyone is watching the most: Stevie, a seasoned icon and a legend in her own right, or Harry, the relatively new kid who looks, sounds, and acts like he’s been doing this for decades.

Jeff knows who he’s watching. As if his eyes could fall anywhere else. Harry keeps glancing at him between his verses, shooting him quick smiles that feel private even among all of the other people in the room.

As soon as Harry is finished with his set, he finds Jeff and says, “I need a drink,” giddy from the comedown of performing.

Jeff wants to protest, yet again, but he trails after Harry helplessly anyway as he takes off in search of the bar. They have anything and everything — cocktails, hard liquor, champagne, wine — but Harry plucks a glass of chardonnay from the table and takes a surprisingly small sip.

Perhaps it’s for the best. If Harry wants Jeff to make good on everything he’s asked for, he needs to be as clear-headed as possible. One drink won’t kill him.

Except one glass turns into two and then three. And before Harry can reach for a fourth, Jeff grabs him around his wrist and drags him onto the dance floor, because if he can’t get Harry to leave quite yet, he can try to get him to sweat some of the alcohol out of his system.

Harry doesn’t seem bothered by their change of location, or that now they’re right in the thick of it, warm bodies bumping up against them from all sides as deep bass pours out of the speakers near the front. It forces them to stand with almost no space between them, as they sway and bop in an approximation of dancing.

Harry’s inebriated version of a whisper is quite loud, so Jeff can’t clamp a hand over his mouth fast enough before Harry is blurting, “I can’t wait to have your cock later.”

Jeff whips around to see if anyone heard him, but they seem to be in the clear. Relatively speaking, anyway, considering that there are plenty of alphas and other omegas around that — even with the smell of sweat and expensive perfumes and cigarettes mixing in the air around them — can scent exactly what’s going on with Harry’s body.

 _You could have it already, if we’d stayed at the hotel_ , Jeff thinks but doesn’t say. He doesn’t get the chance to respond at all, because after a quick glance at his mouth, Harry is kissing him without preamble and sliding his tongue along Jeff’s, his warm hand cradling Jeff’s cheek.

The second after party feels like a cruel joke.

Harry mingles without a care in the world, like he isn’t inches away from being at his most vulnerable. He flounces around with a grin spread out on his face, blushing when people compliment his nails or his vocals from earlier, and always offering a compliment for them in return, because that’s just how he is.

Jeff feels a bit like a shadow.  He never lets Harry out of his sight, even trailing after him a few times as he glides from guest to guest. Mostly, though, he lets Harry have his fun while he hangs back and watches the other partygoers get increasingly silly and wild as the night (early morning, actually) drags on. Harris puts on a particularly good show, flipping their bright, sunset orange hair around and moving their limbs so rapidly that all Jeff sees is a blur. He even gets it on video.

Harry finishes his rounds for the time being and slides up to Jeff with an _I’m up to no good_ glint in his eyes. Jeff’s thoughts are confirmed when Harry presses their groins together, not even trying to be subtle about it.

Jeff pulls his own hips back and wraps his fingers around Harry’s slimmer ones in an attempt to stop him. Undeterred, Harry spins in his hold and grinds up against him backwards.

“Harry,” Jeff nearly chokes. But his arms pull across Harry’s chest without his permission, tucking him even closer. Like this, they fit perfectly. And Jeff would go on to wax poetic about puzzle pieces or something, but his dick seems to have other ideas, fattening up already in his trousers.

“Jesus Christ,” Jeff mutters, but doesn’t tell Harry to stop when he swivels his hips in a decidedly pointed way. There’s a large part of Jeff that wants to take what he can get right now, even if he wishes the circumstances were different. For starters, he doesn’t want an audience. At least for today. He’s not usually keen on sharing, and especially not when Harry’s in heat. That’s for him only. It’s the only real, possessive alpha-like thought that he allows himself to entertain. And Harry is either trying to use that to his advantage right now or he’s just being a pest for the sake of it.

Harry looks at him over his shoulder, coy-like, with club lights dancing over his face and reflecting over the blush pink lenses of his glasses. Harry reaches an arm up to slide his fingers through the back of Jeff’s hair, tugging him down slightly for another kiss.

Then Harry’s moving again before Jeff can even open his eyes. Long arms wind around Jeff’s middle, and he’s reminded of a few of Nick Grimshaw’s words of wisdom: how it feels a bit like being hugged by a spider. With Harry being a bit taller, his half-hard dick settles into the curve of Jeff’s lower back when he nudges forward.

Jeff’s cheeks heat when he catches a whiff of Harry starting to get wet. It’s not enough to be an immediate problem, but if they keep up like this, it certainly will be. With sweat beading at his temples and collar, Jeff quickly shrugs out of his jacket and finds it to be a very useful shield over his front. He may be a grown man, but he can only remain unaffected for so long with Harry crawling all over him and smelling like _that_.

Harry isn’t nearly as modest; as he briefly steps away to speak with someone he recognizes, Jeff notes that the line of his suit is ruined with how he’s tenting out the front. But he doesn’t seem to care, his aloofness paying off because no one else seems to notice.

When Harry returns to him, he takes up his spot behind Jeff again. One would think that Jeff might have built up a tolerance to Harry’s antics by now, but he wouldn’t be able to hold back his grunt of surprise when Harry cops a feel of his growing erection if he tried.

 _Okay, that’s enough_ , Jeff thinks and guides Harry by the shoulders to the nearest corner so he can crowd up against him and give him a taste of his own medicine. Harry looks delighted, of all things, when Jeff grabs his ass in two handfuls and presses their hips together, biting at the sensitive part of Harry’s jaw.

The air shifts in a tangible way around them, as Harry suddenly isn’t just a little wet anymore. He’s definitely leaking through the seat of his white Calvin briefs and potentially through his cream suit.

Jeff pulls back, satisfied and smiling, and is met with Harry’s wide-eyed stare.

“We need to go,” Harry says.

“I think we should stay. Have a few more drinks,” Jeff lies coolly, taking his hands away and kissing Harry gently on the mouth.

For all Harry was smug just a few seconds ago, he looks genuinely concerned now. “No, Jeff. We _really_ need to go.”

“Don’t you want another picture with Stevie? We should at least say goodbye.” Jeff gets his hand under Harry’s jacket, the silk lining brushing his knuckles as he cups the gentle swell of his soft hip.

Harry shakes his head quickly. Stevie’s an alpha. She’d know what was happening right away, and although Jeff suspects that she’d be protective and motherly about it, he knows that Harry would be mortified.

"I can't take pictures with them. Or anyone else."

"Why not?" Jeff asks, laying it on thick by blinking his eyes in a slow, faux-innocent way like Harry sometimes does.

Harry glares at him. He swallows and leans forward so his lips are brushing Jeff’s ear as he lowly says, “Call a car, please.”

Jeff slides his phone out of his pocket and types in the number without any further argument.

 

* * *

 

 

The car that ends ups taking them back to the hotel doesn’t have a partition. Harry doesn’t seem to care one bit about that fact, however, considering he climbs into Jeff’s lap the second they pull away from the curb.

“Seatbelt,” Jeff mumbles into Harry’s mouth, but Harry, who is clearly not interested in listening, grinds down like he’s trying to prove a point. His suit might not be ruined, at least not yet, but they’re going to have to pay the dry cleaner extra. Jeff keeps having to redirect Harry’s hands, because he keeps trying to get Jeff’s flies undone, using distraction tactics that are more effective than Jeff would like to admit. Eventually he has to grab both of Harry’s wrists in his hand but all that does is make Harry writhe even more, like Jeff just pressed his ‘on’ button.

Right. Jeff doesn’t know how he forgot Harry’s love for being manhandled a bit. Normally that would be nothing but a good thing in Jeff’s book, but right now it means his options for calming a lapful of desperate omega down are even more limited. He can't even go for the "behave or you're not getting any" route because he knows that _Harry_ knows Jeff is too loving of a partner to actually ignore him when he's in heat.

But Jeff has technically already spent an evening doing exactly that. They’ve both been ignoring Harry’s heat. Cheeky gropes and dirty talk aside, Harry is only as desperate as he is because they haven’t been alone for long enough for Jeff to take care of him the way they both need him to do. It was at Harry’s request. After all, attending the event is what they’ve been arguing back and forth about. The thing is, Jeff knows that deep down, the real reason Harry has pushed himself so much tonight is to prove to himself that he can be reliable and professional, and not captive to the whims of his biology.

So Jeff tries a softer approach.

"Kid, you've been so good tonight, following through on the commitment you made to be here for the launch —"

"But I wanna be good for you now," Harry whines, and God, if Jeff had even a smidgen less self-control he'd say fuck it and give the chauffeur a show. But instead, he steels himself, and gently lifts Harry's hands, still squirming in his grasp, and kisses his knuckles gently.

"You're always good for me, Harry. That's why I know you're gonna let me keep my pants on until we're back in our hotel, right? Because that's what I want you to do."

Harry bites his lip like he wants to argue, but knows that he can't do that without invalidating the last thing he said. So he stops trying to strip off Jeff’s clothes, but he keeps grinding down into Jeff's lap for the rest of the trip. All in all, that’s a pretty good compromise, although Jeff has to ignore the bolt of confusing heat that shoots through him when he notices their driver glancing into the rearview mirror once or twice.

 

* * *

 

 

Jeff can tell that he’s trying his very hardest to behave in the elevator. They’re on the top floor, because that’s the kind of thing you do when you’re Harry Styles and you have more money than you know what to do with. It also means a longer ride up, which Harry spends most of restlessly shifting his weight from foot to foot while Jeff bites his lip and tries to will down the urge to pin Harry up against the ornate, mirrored wall.

They both jump when the bell sounds to let them know they’ve reached their floor. There’s only one door in the hallway, and Jeff makes a beeline for it, fumbling the key (an actual, physical metal key) out of his pocket and shoving it in the lock. Harry’s right behind him, hands hovering over Jeff’s and silently urging him to move faster.

The suite is huge — there’s an actual foyer, followed by a sitting room, a full kitchen to the right, and a hallway with multiple bedrooms to the left.

They barely make it out of the foyer by the time Harry has his pants and jacket off, both of which are dropped on the floor like they don’t cost thousands upon thousands of dollars. He tosses his sunglasses onto a table and kicks his leather shoes off. Alessandro would have a fit if he saw.

But Jeff can’t make himself care right now, too captivated with every new inch of skin revealed as Harry strips off. He pulls Harry’s tank top off for him, scratching up his sides lightly just because he can, and because it makes Harry whine.

They walk backwards, Harry trusting Jeff to guide him around antique Italian furniture and rare, one-of-a-kind art pieces, never once taking his eyes off Jeff.

Jeff’s own clothes are still on. He’s sweating, despite the perfectly controlled temperature that they set on the digital display in the wall earlier. If anything, the room is on the cooler side, but he feels like his skin is burning.

Harry stops them in front of the big, red velvet chaise. He falls backwards onto it in an almost-graceful way, and takes Jeff down with him.

“Bedroom,” Jeff says. But Harry is already tugging at his own bottom lip with his teeth and pulling at Jeff’s zipper.

“Off,” Harry says in a rush of breath, and Jeff isn’t sure what he’s referring to, so he shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over the back of the couch because he’s not an animal.

Harry evidently doesn’t care about expensive suits right now, and Jeff clearly isn’t moving fast enough for him. He pulls the bottom of Jeff’s shirt out of his trousers and doesn’t bother with the buttons, opting instead to simply rip it open, sending tiny rounds of tortoiseshell clicking across the wooden floor. He goes for his pants next, pushing them down so they’re just below his hips before shoving his warm hand down his underwear and moaning like he’s the one being touched.

"Bedroom?" Jeff says again, but it comes out as a breathless question this time, distracted by the feeling of Harry's hand closing around his dick for the first time since that shameless grope earlier in the evening.

"Round two can be the bedroom. Want you to fuck me here, right now," Harry says, one hand still jerking Jeff off as the other reaches further down in an act of miraculous coordination, pulling first his own briefs down his legs and then Jeff’s pants the rest of the way off, so that they're both finally naked.

At this point, Jeff doesn't see the point of arguing, now that they're finally at least in private. If Harry wants to get all manner of horrible stains in the velvet upholstery of the chaise, well. Again — he's Harry Styles. He can afford a cleaning fine from the hotel. And also, despite the veneer (or at least pale shade) of calm and collected that Jeff's managed, he really doesn't want to wait any longer, either.

They don't have to wait, when Harry's like this: his heat properly started at this point, slicking him up inside and getting him so hot for it that Jeff knows he doesn't need to prep him. But Jeff can't help himself. His urge to keep Harry safe will always override both of their baser instincts. When Harry wraps his legs around Jeff and starts trying to ease Jeff's cock inside him, Jeff blocks the way with his fingers, sliding two into Harry's hole easily, like cutting a knife through butter.

Harry clenches down immediately, even as he lets out a moan of frustration.

The contraction makes wetness trickle hotly over Jeff’s knuckles and onto his hand. He has to physically stop himself from pulling out those same fingers and bringing them up to his mouth for a taste. Harry’s whining keeps him focused, makes him curl his knuckles until he can rub against Harry’s swollen prostate, which Jeff knows is extra sensitive from the hormones coursing through his body.

Belly heaving, Harry lurches forward at a particularly vicious jab and mashes his face against Jeff’s shoulder. His breath is warm and harsh; he gives Jeff an even harsher bite next to his collarbone, surely leaving teeth marks behind. Hopefully they won’t fade before they’re done. Jeff wants a physical reminder that will last. He’ll have to give Harry a mark of his own at some point.

But at the moment, his dick is starting to get as impatient as Harry. He’s kept them at bay long enough. Harry is more than ready — dripping now, his insides clutching at Jeff’s fingers like a vice despite his best efforts to coax him open.

Jeff is reminded anew, though, how amazing the male omega body is, when he lines himself up and sinks in with one smooth thrust. No resistance. Just perfect heat and delicious friction.

Harry is trembling before he’s even bottomed out, whimpering sweetly into Jeff’s neck. And then he’s coming, just like that, right against Jeff’s belly.

He holds him through it. Doesn’t give him any time to rest because he knows he doesn’t need it. Knows he doesn’t _want_ it. Even through the throes of orgasm Harry is churning his hips and chasing for more, more, _more_.

Harry’s voice is barely a crackle. “Again. Jeff, _again_.”

So Jeff gives it to him again. Or really, _starts_ giving it to him, because Harry came before Jeff could really start thrusting into him. But he is now, clutching Harry's waist as tightly as he can as they start actually fucking, Harry managing to match his movements enthusiastically, even though he just came.

The second round doesn't end up being in the bedroom, like Harry promised. He comes again when they're still on the chaise, clenching around Jeff's dick so tightly that Jeff has to take his hands off Harry and dig his fingernails into the palms of his own hands, the sharp pain stopping him from coming too — because Jeff knows he has to stave off his first orgasm for as long as possible; if he was in rut right now, he’d be able to keep pace with Harry’s recovery period, but for the time being he has to hold himself at bay. 

Round three isn't in the bedroom either; they get most of the way down the hallway and then Harry pushes Jeff to the floor and clambers onto his lap, sinking down on his dick and riding him like a man on a mission.

"I wanted — to do this — earlier," Harry pants out as he bounces, eyes shut in bliss.

"When we were in the car," Jeff says, not really expecting a response but still trying to distract himself from his arousal — which fails, because Harry _does_ respond.

"No," Harry says, a playful glint in his eye cutting through his desperation for a moment.

"When I was in your lap, earlier. Backstage, at the show. Wanted to get you up in me while anyone could see. Could know that I was being taken care of."

Jeff's coming before he's even finished processing Harry's words, but it's okay because Harry's coming too, like a natural response to feeling Jeff's knot swell inside him as he fills him up.

They both take a breather for a moment after that, just sitting slumped up against the wall of the hallway. Jeff rubs his fingers against the back of Harry's neck, where sweat has curled even his finer hair so much it's now matted against his skin. Harry purrs as Jeff — well, grooms him, for lack of a better word, untangling his hair slowly, until they're both ready to get back up and (finally) move to the bedroom.

Neither of them want to move for a while, though. They have no choice, really. They're stuck for an indeterminate amount of time, and they certainly could have picked a better spot because Jeff can already feel his ass going numb. It’s tricky even when they try to plan for it, though; they can never be sure when Jeff’s knot will start to go down.

Tiny threads of drowsiness are starting to creep around Jeff’s bones and muscles, his biology telling him that he needs to rest before he can try to breed his mate again.

Except biology is mostly futile here, thanks to the little implant under the skin of Harry's upper arm. They still get to do all the fun bits, though.

Jeff stays awake because Harry's still awake. He's calmed down significantly at being given Jeff's knot, but it's only temporary. A lull. Jeff can practically feel the still-strong thrum of heat coming off Harry in waves.

"'s good," Harry murmurs, sounding drunk and slurry, a smile in his voice.

Jeff doesn’t have the energy to lift his arms, so he pats over where his hand was already gripping, right over Harry's right ass cheek. "I'm glad. You were also very good. Always a good boy."

The words stick a bit coming out of his mouth, now that they're not in the heat of the moment. He'll say what he has to when Harry is half-delirious with pleasure, because that’s when things come more freely to him. But now, in moments like these, it always feels like he has no idea what he's doing. Like he's still trying to be something he's not.

Harry, however, shatters any and all of those doubts. He shivers in Jeff's arms, clamps down on Jeff's sensitive knot in a way that is clearly involuntary. The sound he lets out is a surprised one, soft and thready. "God..." he whispers, and buries his face even further into Jeff's neck.

Eventually, Jeff's knot does go down enough that Harry can reluctantly pull himself up and off, followed by a rush of fluids; it’s a mixture of the both of them that leaves Jeff's lap even wetter than before. Harry blushes but still meets Jeff's eyes as he wobbles fully to his feet and offers him a hand to help him up.

Their plush, green and grey bedroom doesn't have a single thread out of place. Room service must have taken care of it while they were gone, as they left it a rumpled (and slightly come-crusted, because Harry, with a devilish grin, decided not to swallow at the last minute) mess earlier that morning. The curtains have already been drawn, so Jeff uses the dimmer switch to cast the room in an amber glow, not too soft but not too bright either.

Gingerly and without haste, they get to work on turning the comforter and sheets down, taking care to place all of the decorative throw pillows on the oversized armchair in the corner.

Jeff knees his way onto the king size, pillow top mattress and falls onto his back, stretching his arms and legs out like a starfish. He marvels briefly that even like this, the bed is so wide that he's not anywhere near touching Harry, who's doing much the same on his own side.

He doesn't stay there for long, though. Jeff understands why as soon as he feels the wet head of Harry's dick bump up against his hip. Automatically, he goes to reach for him, but Harry stops him with a hand on his wrist.

He seems to hesitate for a moment. "What if..." he starts, before trailing off. Jeff watches him bite his bottom lip, the skin around his teeth turning white until he releases it and it goes back to its usual dark pink.

Jeff closes his eyes and lets Harry work out what he wants to say on his own. He knows from experience that trying to wiggle things out of him is like pulling teeth.

Harry's quiet for a few more moments. He settles himself more firmly against Jeff's side, hitching his thigh over his hips and wrapping an arm around his waist. Jeff follows suit and wraps his arm around Harry's back, which is still a bit tacky from sweat. He inhales and gets a good lungful of the scent of him — the sharpness of recently warm skin and the stronger notes of what pulses out of his pores and beats at his pulse points. There’s a rich earthiness to it, like vanilla and sage.

"What if," Harry tries again. "What if I wanted you to not let me come this time. Until the very end."

A flash of heat ricochets down Jeff's spine. His eyes open. Harry is already looking up at him, the planes of his face wide and hopeful.

Jeff tightens his arm around him. He keeps his tone light. "Doesn't that defeat the whole purpose of this, though? The orgasm sweepstakes are tipped pretty highly in your favor right now."

Harry's lips twitch. He sighs but he doesn't seem annoyed. "Yeah, but. I think it could be nice. A delay of gratification and all that."

Harry's right. It _could_ be nice, but delaying Harry's orgasm means denying him one, at least initially. In Jeff's experience, denying Harry _anything_ is a feat that's difficult to accomplish on a normal day. Trying to do so during a heat would be a farce.

But perhaps, if Harry is going into it with a goal and the desire, it could work. Jeff's main concern here is his own willpower. If Harry begs... he's not sure he'll be able to say no.

"Delayed gratification? When have you ever been interested in _that_?" Jeff jokes.

Harry narrows his eyes at him. "Don't be rude, Jeffrey."

With his free hand, Jeff tips Harry's face up for a comparably chaste kiss, considering that Jeff is _literally_ covered in Harry’s drying come. “Never," he says.

And just like that, Jeff is agreeing to go along with whatever Harry wants. He’s helpless yet again to the pull of his charm, sucked in like water down a drain.

Harry gets on his back this time, right in the middle of the bed, and settles into a nest of pillows that have been fluffed and arranged _just so_. He doesn’t have to ask or give any instruction; Jeff shoulders his way between Harry's parted thighs and gets his mouth where he's wanted to all night.

Harry yelps at first and then relaxes into it, draping his calves over Jeff's back, heels digging slightly into his ribs. The pressure is pleasant in a way. It lets him know what Harry likes instantly, giving him a kind of feedback when he can feel the muscles in Harry’s legs twitch; when his toes curl; when he tries to shift impossibly closer, moans escaping into the open air and drifting up to the ornate vaulted ceiling above them.

Under his tongue, Harry's hole is hot and swollen. His scent is strongest here, oozing out of him in the highly concentrated liquid that Jeff laps at eagerly, alternating between spreading it around into his crack and swallowing it like it's his last meal. It's reciprocity; he's been inside Harry and he wants Harry inside of him, even if the nature of the two things are different.

When Harry starts to buck and tilt his hips wildly, pushing into Jeff's mouth and drawing back, caught and unsure of how much stimulation he can handle, Jeff settles him with hands firm around his waist. His fingers spread out over the rise and fall of Harry’s belly like a web, silently urging him to not fight it.

It works for a few minutes, but soon enough Harry threads his fingers into Jeff's hair and tugs sharply, quickly breathing out, " _Close_. Gonna come," as his knees draw closer to his own chest, his whole body curling up in preparation.

Jeff pulls away with a slick sound and Harry whines at the loss of it. When Jeff flicks his eyes up to his face, Harry looks like he's about to argue, his brows furrowed over tightly shut eyes, mouth open and set poutily. But then he laughs shortly and stretches out again.

"Fuck," he mutters quietly. Jeff presses a kiss to the soft inside of his thigh, over a faint, mostly faded mouth-shaped bruise that he remembers giving Harry a few days ago.

"You can call it off any time you want, you know. Just say the words." Jeff hooks his fingers into the creases of Harry's hips before licking over his taint where he's warm and mostly smooth.

Harry's back arches sinfully. He pulls Jeff's hair again but it's not followed by a warning this time, so Jeff continues, slowly moving his tongue lower until he can work himself slightly past the muscles of Harry's hole which have gone a bit loose to accommodate, wanting him inside.

"Yes," Harry whines. "Yes, yes — _God_ , _yes_."

Harry gets close twice more and lets Jeff know both times, breathless and shaking with determination, because as he said, Harry’s a good boy. But as he approaches a third, with Jeff's mouth dripping and covered in him, and one of his thumbs pressing against his prostate from the outside, Harry drags him up until they're face to face.

He kisses Jeff, gets a taste of himself, and says, "Fuck me. I want — need you to fuck me again."

Jeff gets his knees under himself for better leverage and fucks into him without another word needed.

Harry lets out a strangled, almost keening sound of relief the second Jeff's dick breaches him again. He seems more keyed up than ever but he's not even moving at this point; he's just wrapped around Jeff like he's clinging for dear life.

At one point, Jeff dicks into him a little harder than he normally would, and he can feel Harry's muscles seizing when he does. He pauses, watching the way Harry's eyes have glazed over. He waits until Harry refocuses and meets Jeff's gaze, nodding enthusiastically. So Jeff does it again. And then again. He's still going slowly because the goal here is to keep Harry on the edge, but his thrusts are as hard and deep as he can manage, like he's trying to carve out a space for himself at Harry's core.

Or maybe, Jeff thinks as they clutch at each other, he's just trying to physically reach a space that's already there — one that they made together, Harry opening up to Jeff over the years like a flower unfurling in the light until Jeff reached the very center of him, and found that they belonged to each other.

It would be reckless in more ways than one to continue that line of thinking when Harry's in heat. So Jeff pushes all thoughts of bonding out of his head and redoubles his efforts without actually increasing his pace, and doing his best to avoid Harry's prostate. He drags against it a few times on accident, and every time Harry clenches down hard and whimpers.

Jeff can tell when they're both getting close again, so he starts to pull out completely. Of course, that's when Harry decides to start moving again. He clamps his legs even tighter around Jeff's waist, so that just the head of Jeff's dick is still inside him.

"Please don't stop," Harry says, practically begging, trying to shuffle closer so that Jeff can bottom out again.

"Harry," Jeff says in warning, heat building at the base of his spine.

"It's okay, you can come again, want your knot again, just keep me from coming, Jeff, _please_ ," Harry says, and God, he's actually crying a little bit, his face clenched in both arousal and misery. Jeff would put the brakes on and say they should stop for a bit, if he hadn't seen Harry cry during sex before: if he didn't know that Harry likes to be overwhelmed sometimes, even to the point of tears. And, well, getting edged during his fucking _heat_ is bound to get him to that point.

So Jeff ignores the little voice at the back of his head telling him he needs to figure out the current threat and protect Harry from it. Instead, he lets a different instinct take over, the one that's more than ready to knot at the way Harry's squirming on the head of his dick, making it clear he wants nothing more in this moment than his alpha inside him. And that's what he gets; Jeff slams back into him, now going as fast as he can, and just when he feels his knot start to swell, he reaches down between them and squeezes the base of Harry's dick, _hard_. Harry stiffens up in surprise, his mouth open in a soundless "oh" at the sudden pain. He reaches out a hand like he's going to try to tear Jeff's hand off him, but then he gets a determined look on his face and bites his fist instead, clearly remembering his goal.

After a few seconds, Jeff lets go of Harry's dick, and places both his hands on the swell of Harry's ass. Slowly, he creeps his fingers forward, until he's feeling the seam where their bodies are connected. He drags his fingers over Harry's rim, awed at the way Harry's split wide open over his knot.

Harry seems more than a little awed himself, staring up at Jeff, his lips open in an ‘O’, like just a blink of his nearly all-pupil eyes might send him over the edge. He’s gone mostly pliant. The only thing still putting up a bit of a fight is his dick, which Jeff can see twitching a bit now that it’s not trapped under Jeff’s palm.

It must be taking all of his concentration to not let go like his body so clearly wants to do. If Jeff has been giving himself over to instinct, Harry is doing the exact opposite, battling against all of his natural responses and urges.

Considering all the effort it’s sure to be taking him to stave off his fourth orgasm, it’s probably a little mean that Jeff is still feeling him up. Sure enough, after a moment Harry blinks the dazed look away from his face and lets out a huff of air — not quite protesting, but more than a little disgruntled.

"If you end up making me come while you're poking around back there, after the way you grabbed me..." Harry says, trailing off and not finishing his warning. Jeff can imagine it, though — something along the lines of being thrown out of the bedroom and forced to sleep on the chaise, with all of its new stains.

"You can't put me in the doghouse yet, though," Jeff teases. "We're gonna be stuck together for at least another few minutes."

When Harry just pouts at that, Jeff decides to go with a different tactic, because Harry usually responds well to a little bit of posturing — at least when it comes from Jeff, who isn't the type of alpha to think that his knot makes him king of the world.

"And you won't want to kick me out for a while after that, either," Jeff says, still rubbing gently at Harry's rim.

Harry gives a slight nod in concession but his eyes stay flinty, on edge. 

Jeff is really starting to feel the effects of coming twice in a short period of time. He can already feel his knot starting to deflate a bit, and Harry must feel it too, if the way he wiggles impatiently is anything to go by. Maybe they could stay like this, adjust themselves carefully onto their sides where they could sleep with Jeff going soft inside of Harry.

But reality has other plans. Harry asked something of him and Jeff intends to do it.  When he tries an experimental thrust, however, he winces at the sensitivity.

Harry protests briefly when Jeff pulls out the moment his knot is almost completely gone. He urges him back with his heels digging into Jeff’s ass, using his hands to grab at his waist and hips.

“No, please. Just —” Harry whines.

“Shh,” Jeff soothes with a hand stroking softly over Harry’s lower belly. “Relax.”

Tears gather in Harry’s eyes again but they don’t fall, even as his chin quilts and his lower lip trembles. It makes something in Jeff’s gut clench, a conflicted feeling — because he can’t decide if it’s from arousal or feeling bad about making Harry cry again. Maybe a combination of both.

He won’t be able to get hard again for a while yet. He knows that. He’s a realist.

But there _is_ something else he can give Harry while he gives his own dick a break. Something that they’ve only done a couple times so far, but that they’ve both thoroughly enjoyed. The first time was during one of Harry’s past heats, and the other was not, so the prep was more extensive. But the memory of having Harry stretched out over his wrist has been one of Jeff’s go-to visuals when he jerks off, whether it be because Harry is travelling or if he simply needs to take the edge off.

He asks softly, “Want my hand?” while he slips three of his fingers into Harry’s well-worked hole. He’s met with absolutely no resistance this time, just a slick glide that they both can hear over their breathing.

Harry digs his heels into the mattress and shoves himself against Jeff’s knuckles, moaning, like he can get Jeff to fist him with sheer willpower alone.

Jeff wants an answer, though. A real one. “Wanna hear you say it,” Jeff urges gently. He curves his fingers in a come-hither motion and circles them, feels out the bump of Harry’s prostate and watches as his dick skids and jumps across his belly from the stimulation.

Harry’s clutching the pristine Egyptian cotton sheets in a white-knuckled grip on either side of him, his whole body rolling as he shudders and writhes like he needs an exorcism. Jeff has to keep reminding himself that Harry wanted this: to be denied and held on the edge. So he’s merciless with his fingers and even chances an odd stroke or two of Harry’s cock, his eyes going wide with awe at Harry’s high whimpers and how well he’s holding himself back.

“Want —” Harry chokes on a ragged sob. “Want it. Want your hand.”

That’s good enough for Jeff.

His pinky makes things a bit more snug but not unbearably so. He still has room to move, room to gently thrust his fingers and stretch out more space for himself. Harry’s been sloppily wet this whole time, and maybe it’s just Jeff’s imagination, but he thinks that maybe he’s even more so now, with the way a steady stream of clear liquid keeps dripping into his crack and all over the bed underneath him. It might take a few days of diligent hand washing for Jeff to get the scent fully off himself.

Jeff works at him like that for a few minutes. He keeps his movements shallow and steady, not actively trying to push Harry into the danger zone, but not avoiding it entirely. Harry gasps and reaches for his cock after a particularly insistent rub, but he doesn’t start to jerk himself off like Jeff initially thought he might. Instead, he grips himself tightly around the base like Jeff did for him earlier.

“Fuck,” Jeff breathes, completely blown away by how he ever managed to get this lucky. Harry’s a dream. And as a reward for being so good, Jeff gets his thumb and knuckles slick before beginning to press them against the already-stretched skin of Harry’s hole.

Harry opens eagerly, greedy for more. But as eager as he is, this is still the first moment of the night that Jeff has felt any resistance. Omega biology is only convenient to a point, and putting a whole hand inside of someone's body is definitely past that point. Jeff perseveres. He can't do anything else; disappointing Harry is unthinkable. He slowly massages Harry's rim with his free hand, coaxing the muscles to relax even further. Eventually something gives, and Jeff's thumb is crowding up against the rest of his fingers, surrounded by an incomparable gripping tightness.

The noise Harry lets out barely qualifies as human, but it's not a pained sound so Jeff keeps going. He holds his breath as he does, inching slowly further inside until suddenly, the bones of his wrist are bumping up against Harry's rim.

Jeff exhales. "My hand's inside of you," he says, his tone as amazed as it was the last two times they did this.

Harry nods dazedly. His gaze is unfocused as he looks at Jeff like he's the second coming.

Jeff stays as still as possible while he lets Harry adjust. He can feel the pulse of him fluttering around his hand, where he's stretched the most. Can feel it in his chest when Harry's insides clench and tremble. Harry's body is like a second skin right now, one that Jeff wears proudly and with care.

Both of them are holding their breath now, as if any wrong move, no matter how small, might disrupt the careful balance they've worked up to. But Jeff forces himself to let it out, and encourages Harry to do the same.

Harry puts his vocal lessons to good use, listening to Jeff intently as he guides him through big inhales from his diaphragm and the subsequent exhales that follow. After a few more breaths, Jeff notices the grip around his wrist loosening slightly as Harry relaxes into it. Or at least, as relaxed as he can be in this situation.

That's all the go-ahead Jeff needs, and with a quiet "Yeah," from Harry, he slowly starts to form his fingers into a fist.

Harry's steady breathing instantly goes out the window. He starts panting again right away.

"Too much?" Jeff asks, halting his movements.

Harry doesn't respond, his eyes scrunched shut and his whole body taut.

"H..." Jeff tries.

"No. Yes — yeah. I 'dunno." Harry mumbles. But he must decide on something, because not long after, he's tilting his hips ever-so-slightly and saying, "Please. Just — slow."

Jeff can do slow.

Minutes seem to stretch on for hours as he gives Harry the smallest possible thrusts of his hand and wrist. It looks like he's barely moving, but he might as well be slamming in and out given the way Harry starts to twist and cry out. They're the good kind of cries, even though they sound dangerously close to bad ones. But Jeff prides himself in being able to tell the difference after all of these years.

Harry's ass isn't the only thing that's leaking. His cock is drooling a shiny, sticky trail onto his belly. He's gone slightly soft from the stretch, but that doesn't mean that he's any less close to coming.

Jeff thinks that maybe Harry's had enough. That it's finally time to let him release.

"You can come if you want, Harry. You deserve it."

Harry sobs, reaches both of his hands up to tug at his own hair, his head thrown back and digging into the pillow. He's flushed all down his chest, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Jeff has never seen anyone so beautiful.

He must be mistaken when he hears Harry say, "No."

"What?" Jeff's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"Not yet." Harry's voice is high and thready, cracking down the middle.

Jeff huffs out a laugh of disbelief.

"You're a trooper, kid, Jesus," he says, pure admiration in his voice.

If Harry says they should keep going then they'll keep going, but that means Jeff is going to have to back off at least a bit. There's no way that Harry, even as determined as he's proven to be, will last for much longer with Jeff's fist curled up inside him like this. So Jeff starts easing his hand backwards, but he has to pause when Harry whimpers and squirms back too, trying to keep all of Jeff in him.

"H," Jeff says, trying for a soothing tone and rubbing his free hand along Harry's flank like he's calming an erratic animal, "Just let me go back to four fingers, okay?"

He doesn't know if Harry is fully able to process his words at the moment but he relaxes a bit anyway, letting Jeff pull his thumb and the larger part of his hand out. When Jeff looks down, he sees the back of his hand is so damp and sticky with Harry's slick that his skin has started to go pruney. His dick jumps to attention at the sight, making a valiant attempt at a third erection — or at least the beginnings of one.

He does his best to ignore his own arousal, focusing his efforts on fucking Harry with four fingers again, at a carefully slow pace. He does glance down at himself at one point, just to see how close to half-mast he's gotten, and that ends up being his fatal mistake. Harry catches him looking and follows his gaze. Jeff sees the exact moment Harry realizes he'll be able to be knotted again soon, and that's when he does something that Jeff previously thought only existed in porn.

His forearm takes the brunt of it as Harry releases gush after gush of wetness, thinner and runnier than the slick that was leaking out of him before, but smelling far more potently of Harry’s scent.

Jeff’s chest and neck get a bit of it too, warm and sticky as it trickles down into his chest hair. He keeps fucking Harry through it, his fingers squelching lewdly where they’re connected.

Harry’s spine is bent in such a way that Jeff briefly worries he’ll snap in half. But then Harry drops back down with a soft thud and one final groan, his strings effectively cut as he goes limp.

His chest and belly don’t fare much better than Jeff’s; he’s streaked with milky white almost all the way up to the inky blots of his swallow tattoos.

They're both speechless for a moment afterwards, as if Harry can't believe what his body just did. Jeff is certainly having a hard time believing his own eyes. But then the moment ends, and Jeff's instincts swell into being with unparalleled force, like his alpha hindbrain is suddenly at the reins. Between one blink of his eyes and the next, Jeff's flipped Harry onto his stomach, and is resting his dick in the absolute mess that is the cleft of Harry's ass. He's still not fully hard again just yet, but Jeff doesn't know if he's ever been so turned on his life.

That ends when an unhappy sound cuts through his arousal like a physical wound.

"Shit," Jeff says, scrambling to turn Harry back around and face him again.

"I'm so sorry, Harry, I don't even know what — any of that was, I just —" Harry cuts him off with a kiss as sloppy and wet as the rest of their bodies are right now, mauling him until Jeff thinks he might be in real danger of passing out from lack of air.

"Don't apologise, 's good," Harry slurs out when they break away, a pleased but distant smile on his face, like he's floating a bit out of reach at the moment.

"Just didn't want to get — all that — on the sheets," he says, which Jeff thinks is sweet but a bit misguided, because the sheets and probably even the mattress have been a lost cause for a while at this point. Regardless, they take a breather, and once they're both more in control of their movements, Jeff rolls Harry onto his side, and pulls them flush together, Harry's back against his chest. He takes advantage of the position while they're still relatively calm to finally return Harry's mark, and gently bites a bruise into the back of Harry's neck, where he combed his tangles out earlier. Harry lets out a pleased sound, cuddling back into Jeff further.

With a still-trembling hand, Harry reaches behind himself and lines Jeff up, helpfully lifting his thigh up and towards his chest. All Jeff has to do is lean forward a bit and he's sliding home again.

Despite everything, Harry is just as tight as when they started, like his body knows what they both need. The friction is incredible as always, nothing between them except Harry's slick. Harry's likely ruined him for anyone else, as they haven't used a condom in what seems like forever. But it doesn't matter anyway — Jeff can't ever imagine himself with someone who's not Harry.

The effects of his heat must be wearing off for a bit. It usually comes and goes. The beginning is always the most intense, and Jeff is thanking his lucky stars that he's even awake right now, exhausted and wrung out as he is. They'll need to rest for a while, before Harry inevitably wakes again with fiery urgency.

For now, Jeff is content to move inside of him with little fanfare. The tiny thrusts he manages are more of a gentle grind. Harry's arching into it, his cock amazingly still hard and jutting out from his pelvis, occasionally grazing the sheets and making him gasp.

Jeff grips his thigh so that he doesn't have to hold it up anymore, and Harry blindly reaches for Jeff's face to pull him down in an uncoordinated brush of their parted lips.

Jeff thought it would take longer for him to get close, given that it's his third go. But it seems like it takes hardly any time at all for him to feel the telltale buzz at the base of his spine.

He keeps his pace, steady and shallow, and lets go with a gentle huff and a mumbled, "Gonna come. Gonna knot you — _oh_. I —" as he spills inside Harry for a final time.

Harry sighs into it, pressing his hips back so they're as close as possible, and then he's coming too, a sluggish spurt that lands on the sheets while he twitches, untouched.

Jeff's knot is only about half its usual size, but his orgasm lights up every nerve ending in his body. It's an all-consuming, bone-deep pleasure that leaves him shivering with aftershocks, a fist clenching around his heart with all his love for the person in his arms.

It takes a bit for Jeff to hear over the rush of his own pulse in his ears, but when he tunes in, he feels his eyes prick dangerously.

Harry's murmuring softly, "Jeff. Jeffrey. Love you."

Jeff thinks about the matching bite marks the two of them are wearing right now. Jeff thinks about all the ways they've already accepted that they belong to each other. Jeff thinks about the fact that bonding — that little word he won't let himself daydream about — would only be confirming to everyone else something that they both already know. But all he says, when he can finally get ahold of himself for long enough to respond, is a hoarse, barely audible, "Love you too, kiddo."

Harry doesn't hear it. He's already fast asleep, exhausted from pushing himself. But that's okay. Jeff can tell him again in the morning. Jeff can tell him again and again, for the rest of their lives.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry actually ends up saying he hates Jeff several times when the morning comes, after they wake up crunchy, stuck to the sheets, and to stuck each other. Looking like a disgruntled cat, Harry peels himself out of bed with his nose scrunched in distaste. Jeff laughs so hard that he stops breathing for a moment.

He knows Harry can’t actually be that mad, though, when he returns from their en-suite with a warm, damp washcloth and unceremoniously tosses it on Jeff’s chest. He perches himself delicately on the edge of the bed next to Jeff’s legs.

“Hurry up and wash off. I have plans for you today,” Harry says very seriously.

Jeff swipes the cloth over his chest, but finds that to be futile. He has to really scrub to get anything off.

Then it clicks.

“What’s the point if we’re just gonna end up filthy again?” Jeff asks.

“Don’t be uncouth, Jeffrey,” Harry says mildly. However, he does pluck the washcloth from Jeff’s unmoving hands and quickly deposits it back in the bathroom.

When he returns, still naked as the day he was born, his eyes have that twinkle about them again.

He climbs onto Jeff’s lap and strokes his long fingers over his bare chest. “How many times do you reckon I can make you come today?” he asks, his voice pleasant and casual.

Jeff groans. It’s too early for this. He hasn’t even had a cup of coffee yet. But a quick glance down shows him that Harry is on his way to being ready for Day Two. And that means that Jeff isn’t going to be far behind. There’s no place else he’d rather be.


End file.
